Read Online Lying Together by Gaynor Arnold - Free Book Online Page A

ballroom and the sound of a saxophone was echoing down the hall. I could see the new waitress sauntering towards Jack’s table in a half-soaked sort of way, and I headed her off quickly. ‘I’ll see to this gentleman, Jean,’ I said, pulling down my cuffs and pulling up my collar.
    He wasn’t reading this time; he was alert, on edge, eyes flicking from window to door. I knew the signs, of course: he was waiting for someone. It was bound to be a woman. Why wouldn’t it be – he was young and handsome, and if I’d fallen for him on sight, surely some other woman would have? I wanted him to myself, though, to talk about tea and jam and hot buttered toast. I didn’t know if I could bear to see another woman sitting across from him, taking his lovely soft hands into hers.
    â€˜May I take your order, sir?’ I smiled, hoping he’d recognize me. But he gave no sign. His face, as he turned to look at me, was thinner and paler than I remembered and the dark lashes around his eyes looked even more intense.
    â€˜Not yet, thank you. I’m waiting for someone.’ He added, ‘My mother and sisters. They’re always late. Ah, here they –’
    He rose with a smile, colour coming to his cheeks, and I turned and saw in the doorway a plump, middle-aged woman in a mushroom-coloured two-piece, followed by two very smartly dressed young ladies. They all rushed forward and clung to him, laughing and crying at the same time. Jack had trouble keeping upright underneath their assault, and it struck me again that he seemed rather frailer than before. I knew what all the excitement meant, of course: Jack was off to battle, and his family had come to say goodbye. We’d had plenty of scenes like this in the last two or three years. The only thing that was strange was that he wasn’t in uniform – just a plain dark suit which didn’t fit him very well. He still looked lovely, though, and I wanted to eat him with my eyes.
    I was a bit disappointed that his mother had no exotic scarves and no plaits of foreign-looking hair. In fact, she looked just like any of the women who regularly came to lunch at the hotel – little hat with a feather perched on her head, a fox fur around her shoulders. Only the colour of her skin marked her out. It had that old rose colour and velvety texture that I so admired in Jack, and she had the same striking eyelashes. The sisters were equally dark, with lots of black curls. Their velvet tams, worn on one side, were especially fashionable. All three took a long time to get seated, deciding who should sit next to Jack and who should sit opposite. ‘Oh, Jack!’ they kept saying, jumping up and down, and kissing him over and over, and, ‘Oh, Jack,’ again when they finished. And even when they were seated, it seemed the mother could not take her eyes off her son. She patted his hand and even leant across the table and stroked his head. He didn’t seem at all embarrassed and looked at them all and gave a smile which was much wider than I’d seen from him before. He seemed full of love for them, and not at all absent-minded.
    â€˜Would you care to look at the menu?’ I asked, once they were slightly more settled. ‘We have a selection of cakes and pastries as well as muffins and hot buttered toast.’ I handed the menu to Jack. ‘Jam’s included, needless to say.’ I wanted to see if he’d remembered. He looked up at me for a moment, as if an old memory was stirring but he couldn’t quite place what it was. But seconds later his sisters had distracted him, saying, my goodness, didn’t they know there was a war on down here in Devon and gosh, he must have a custard slice, or was he hungry and did he want sardines on toast or an omelette? ‘Oh, Jack,’ they kept saying. ‘We can’t believe you’re back with us.’ They touched him again and again as if to make sure he